i sat on a deck
by a lake
in the mountains
and watched a bat
fill the sky
with pattern
miles and miles and miles
away
things were being broken
hearts
laws
a country
a document
we’ve forgotten
to remember
the same idiot wind
playing loud
in both places
burning holes
in an atmosphere
of calm
silence is a lie
we tell ourselves
at dusk
transparent wings
gently flapping
.
.
.
seventeen years later
that’s what we call it
not nine eleven oh one
not September 11, 2001
just
nine eleven
two words
three digits
two towers
four planes
thousands
of
mothers
fathers
daughters
sons
sisters
brothers
wives
husbands
aunts
uncles
girlfriends
boyfriends
not statistics
falling
from
the
sky
not dates
or where were you’s
just whole hearts
in odd numbers
each one
the only necessary
evidence
of love
::
.
.
.
the trees are dying.
okay, only two out of seven
but they’re my favorite two and
when i walk outside
to listen to whispers
i hear the sounds of mourning.
.
already
i feel time slipping through bent fingers
already
i’ve picked a place to bury sun-bleached bones
already
i’m learning the words
to a song i’d prefer not to sing
.
that’s not to say
i don’t watch the sunset
that’s not to say
i don’t smile when the moon
knocks on my window
that’s not to say
i don’t sing with the robin at sunrise
it’s just to say
i notice.
the trees are dying.
.
.
.
Mine lives just down the road, at the bottom of a hill I don’t climb often enough.
There are all sorts of metaphors I could spin around swamps, all sorts of things to say about current events.
Suffice it to say the last 18 months have been rough, in so many ways.
For now, the swamp is still there. It’s been a dry couple of months, so I won’t be surprised if it evaporates again this year. The fish will die, the air will smell, the herons, egrets, and vultures will have a party.
I will miss the reflection of sky as I drive by.
I will miss the serenity and the promise of intrigue that bodies of water always offer.
I will miss the geese who have nowhere to land.
I will miss the comfort of home.
I will despair, briefly, at all the mud and the loss and the injustice.
(I don’t do well with injustice).
One day it will rain again.
Puddles will grow and water will flow.
I’ll complain about the basement flooding.
The birds will return and the sun will shine and the cycle will begin, again.
At least that’s what I want to believe.
. . .
the crows wait by the side
as i skirt the puffed body
of an unfortunate car-naive groundhog
. . .
I hold my breath and keep walking,
metaphors lining my pockets.
. . .
.
.
.
. . .
when we all have wet feet and broken hearts and crooked arrows
incredulity becomes reality and mud sticks between toes
that refuse to stop walking
shutupshutupshutupshutup
the slap of heels on grooved wet pavement
it just keeps raining (pouring)
salt in old wounds
no time to heal
no time
time
on time
an hourglass
of sacrificial sand
it just keeps raining (pouring)
the slap of heels on grooved wet pavement
shutupshutupshutupshutup
that refuse to stop walking
incredulity becomes reality and mud sticks between toes
when we all have wet feet and broken hearts and crooked arrows
. . .
a frozen sunrise
leaps between trees shocked
by the cold of reality
on a morning left behind
by a year
marked with double-time
mis-step
black heels pounding
history’s false rhythm
good evil
light dark
black white
grey pavement winding
forward
the only
right
direction
.
.
.
people say you’ve changed
and i say
hallelujah!
about time!
how high?
my feet got bigger
and my hips got wider
and crone was painted every
where i looked in
big red scary letters
or long retracted grey whispers
(and both sound exactly just the same)
i inherited all this anger
from the girl that came before
this rage
raging all around
i’ve been breathing rage
for a year now
a year that broke my heart
in every sideway possible
and screwed it back together
with those cheap screws
that break
when you crank too hard
that makes it sound worse than it was
that makes it sound easier than screaming
that makes it sound so grandiose
when really it was just hours
and minutes and tears and breathing
sweat equity pouring down my back
as i walked for miles and miles and miles
and never did get far enough away
i have calluses stronger than my silence
i have plastic words and a purple parachute
i have this empty body standing tall
and we all sag under the weight
of whittled-down survival
…..
this afternoon
the sky
was filled with geese
winter is coming
winter is coming
at night i hear these words
in the darkness
outside my window
inside my head
your voice
my voice
whisper scream
the possibility
of resurrection
.
.
.
and all these temporary moments
but we crave permanence, don’t we?
i think that may be what makes us human
all these losses
broken promises
little hurts
deep wounds
stem from that desire
and the reality of truth
is always winning
say hello
wave goodbye
each night
each hour
each minute
say hello
wave goodbye
the morning glory
has just one day
to bloom
say hello
wave goodbye
but look
how she loves
the sky
.
.
.
sixteen years later
that’s what we call it
not nine eleven oh one
not September 11, 2001
just
nine eleven
two words
three digits
two towers
four planes
thousands
of
mothers
fathers
daughters
sons
sisters
brothers
wives
husbands
aunts
uncles
girlfriends
boyfriends
not statistics
falling
from
the
sky
not dates
or where were you’s
just whole hearts
in odd numbers
each one
the only necessary
evidence
of love
::
.
.
today
i walked
in the rain
thunder
hounding
feet
pounding
head held
high
going
nowhere
sorta
fast
.
.
.
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